


Like a Star

by Wicked_Wayward_Warrior



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bonfires, Domestic Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Hot Chocolate, Inspired by Music, Sam Winchester in Lucifer's Cage, Witchcraft, Witches, corinne bailey rae, like a star
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:35:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24235882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked_Wayward_Warrior/pseuds/Wicked_Wayward_Warrior
Summary: Inspired by the song “Like a Star” by Corinne Bailey Rae; A few months after Sam jumped into the cage with Lucifer and Michael, Dean Winchester and his witchy girlfriend, Jazzy Baker, take a shot at being normal. Still searching for a plan to save Sam, they move to Colorado and rent a townhouse with a patio and a fire pit.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	Like a Star

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to write something that didn’t have so much angst and sadness, but I’m 85% trauma, and--surprise, surprise--so is my OC. Anyway, I tried.

Dark purples, bright pinks, and neon oranges painted the sky as the sun began its descent over the horizon. Nestled between mountain peaks, it's rays poured into the backyard of our townhome and kissed my brown skin with love and gentleness. After working so hard to move furniture, filling closets with clothes, and organizing cutlery and pots, I was grateful for the opportunity to soak in the last of the sunlight before the crescent moon ruled over the night. 

Dean and I had been in Colorado Springs for almost two weeks before all the furniture we ordered finally arrived. Between the two of us, we managed to set up the bedroom and living room and decorate them both. Dean seemed to be pleased with the minimalist design of the bedroom and went a little crazy with the vintage records we put on the walls of our soon-to-be dining room. We played rock-paper-scissors to decide which one of us got to pick the theme for the second bedroom, and of course, I won.

Wrapping a blanket around my shoulders, I burrowed myself deep into the wicker chair we found at a thrift store and relaxed my muscles, tight from a long day of hard work, and looked out over our backyard. It wasn't anything special: most of it was patches of dirt with a few spots of grass scattered here and there, and a path of stones led that to nowhere. It was little to nothing beyond our patio deck, but it was perfect because it was ours.

The first weeks after Sam did a swallow-dive into the cage with Michael and Lucifer, it was touch and go. We stayed at Bobby's for a few days, but with Cas in the wind, Dean started getting antsy. Just as he always did, he tried to hide his grief. He made jokes and sang along to whatever songs were playing in the tape deck, but he also never stopped drinking, and either didn't eat enough or ate too much, and I would hear him sobbing in the middle of the night. 

There were moments where I looked into his green eyes and I didn't see anything in them that resembled life. He got angry, started fights at bars, throwing punches to the point that his knuckles were bruised and was practically begging people to give him a good slug to the face. By the time he got back to wherever we called home for the night, he was exhausted and trashed, but still somehow found reasons to pick fights with me. 

I'd cradle his head in my lap and sing his favorite songs to him until he drifted off to sleep, though it wouldn't be for long. Taking care of Dean for the first couple of weeks was hard, but dealing with the nightmares from being killed by Lucifer was so much harder. I never told Dean about the nightmares. I never told him about how I remembered hell, even if I was only there briefly. Knowing about that would do nothing more than torment him even more that he already tormented himself. 

Even now, as he walked out on the patio with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate in his hands, there was a blip of darkness hiding just behind the shadows of his face. The light from the setting sun cast a warm glow on his skin, calling more attention to the freckles on his cheeks. “Here you go, madam,” he said, handing me a ceramic mug from the set that arrived today. “Careful, baby, it's hot.”

“Oh really?” I teased, setting it on the arm of the chair I was sitting in. “I thought it was going to be cold.”

Dean rolled his eyes and his face fell into a dramatic frown. “Oh shut up.” He set his mug down on the tiny patio table sitting between us and turned to the fire pit sitting in front of us.

In my time sitting outside, instead of admiring the incredible view, I  _ could _ have started our bonfire, but this once, I decided to perpetuate unhealthy gender roles. I admired the rippling of his muscles as he lit the tinder and the kindling he'd gathered in town earlier this afternoon. His brows furrowed and his tongue stuck out between his lips as he concentrated, being careful not to burn himself when creating a teepee with burning logs. 

“Careful, baby, it's hot,” I mocked. 

He looked over his shoulder and shared his deadpan expression. “You know, you could come help me.”

“Now why on earth would a girl like me do a thing like that, Mister?” I said, using my best Southern Bell drawl. 

Satisfied with the smirk on his lips, I brought my mug to my lips and continued watching him. Seeing him so calm, so himself, was like opening a gift that had been wrapped in layers and layers of Kraft Paper with a DO NOT OPEN note scribbled on the top. It took many long nights and a few vampire nests to get here, but for the first time since we left Stull Cemetery, it seemed that maybe we were going to be all right.

“Shit,” Dean said as he withdrew his finger from the burning logs. He stuck his finger in his mouth to soothe the burn. 

I sat my mug down on the patio table and let my blanket fall to my sides as I scooted to the front of the chair. “Babe, back up. I got it.” As much as I loved to see him working so hard, I started to feel sorry for him.

Once he saw was I was doing, he shook his head. “Nope, Jazzy. You said you didn't want to use magic here. I've got this.”

I gave him a contrite smile. “But you burned yourself. I should have just used magic the light the damn thing before you came out here and got hurt.” 

He held his hand out when I started to get up from my chair. “Just,” he sighed. “Just give me a second, Jazz.”

Conceding, I remained seated with my hands in my lap. Magic was a part of hunting, and hunting reminded him of his brother. Knowing that he promised Sam he would give white picket fences and credit scores a shot, he reluctantly agreed when I became adamant about taking a break from hunting. We could still keep searching for a way to save Sam, but we wouldn't be eating diner food and taking showers in gas station bathrooms. For me, a break meant no witchcraft. For him, that meant an entire lifestyle change. 

Only his grunts and groans filled the silence as he placed the logs right where they needed to go to grow the fire that was kindled. Once he was done, he stood back, hands on his hips, and beaming with pride. “See that! There was no need to lift a single magical finger.”

I stood up, grinning from ear to ear, and kissed him on his cheek. “You're right. I’m sorry. It looks great.” I reached down and grabbed his finger, pressing my lips on the reddened skin where he was burned. “But you should let me grab some salve to help this heal.”

He made a dismissive sound and slid his hand through my grasp to caress my cheek. “I’m fine. I've got tough skin.”

I chuckled, raising my brows as I turned away to return to my chair. “Whatever, Winchester. I think I put it under the bathroom sink, so when you think I’m not looking you can go grab it. No questions asked.”

I wrapped myself in my blanket and watched the fire sizzle and crackle as Dean walked back to his seat nursing his finger. “Now this is a fucking view,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He raked his non-burned hand through his hair and admired the view of the mountains on the other side of our fence.

“You think he'd like it?” I asked, overcome with sadness about Sam not being able to share this with us. Sam always wanted to settle down, get off the road, and live a normal life. He always wanted this, and he sacrificed it all just to save the world, and the world would never know.

Dean sipped on his hot chocolate and grinned so hard, wrinkles dug into the corners of his eyes. It was the first time in a long time that he seemed like he might actually be happy. “He'd love it. He'd probably bust a nut seeing this.”

I reached over to the table to grab my hot chocolate. “You know, you don't have to be so damn vulgar all the damn time.”

He looked over at me making a serious face. “The fuck do you mean?” Not another second passed and he busted out laughing, lifting his knees to his chest and wheezing like he couldn't breathe. When he calmed down, he sucked in a sharp breath. “Yeah, Jazz, Sam would've loved it.”

I took my first sip of hot chocolate and felt the familiar burn of alcohol. I recoiled, not expecting the tingle in my chest from vodka. “Dean, did you put vodka in this?”

He shrugged and flashed an innocent smile. “What? I thought that's what you wanted?”

I shook my head and set my mug back down on the table standing between us. “I never said I wanted you to spike my hot chocolate.”

“Shit, babe, my bad. If you don't want it I could just—”

He reached for my cup but I swatted his hand away. “I didn't say that either, dweeb!”

He wiggled his eyes brows, playfully, and gulped down more of his own drink. “Tastes good, doesn't it?”

My cheeks started to feel sore from smiling so hard, but that was the effect Dean had on me. The sparkle of his eyes, the rumbling roar of his voice, and the curves of the cutest bowlegs in the universe kept me smiling, even in the most unimaginable darkness. “It tastes great, okay? I just...I just wasn't expecting that, that's all.”

His playful demeanor faded and was replaced by quiet reflection. I sipped my chocolate, entranced by the wild embers floating up toward the rising moon. Moments like this one, sometimes, didn't feel real. I wondered if I was never brought back from hell at all, and that this was how my torture manifested. I could be convinced that I had it all in this imperfect perfect moment, and so quickly, it could be ripped away. 

“You know,” Dean said, snatching my mind from the distress in my brain, “I never expected any of this.” 

He reached his hand out to me, hanging between our chairs. I peeled out of my blanket, just enough to free my hand. “What do you mean?”

“All of this. I mean, we are renting a townhouse, drinking spiked hot chocolate on our patio, looking out at the sunset over a bunch of mountains.” His eyes left our picturesque view and landed on me, giving my hand a squeeze. “And you, Jazzy. I've got the most beautiful woman in the world by my side. Hell, the only thing better than this would be—”

Keeping my hand wrapped up in his, I stood up from my chair, my blanket dropping to the ground, and walked over to him with a coy smile playing on my lips and warmth in my cheeks. “What?” I sat down on him, winding my arms around his neck and my legs hanging off one side of the chair. “The most beautiful woman in the world on your lap.”

I lowered my lips to his and savored the hints of chocolate and whipped cream on his mouth. I leaned my body into him and he secured his arms around me, pulling me as close as our bodies could be. When my lips left his, I stared into the oceans of his eyes and caressed his stubbled cheeks. 

“Hey, you okay?” He was breathless when he spoke, a husky vibration in his voice. “You look kind of...sad.”

I brushed my curls from my face, tucking them behind my ear. “Well, that's no way to talk to the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Lips parting slightly, he searched my eyes, and I wondered if he could see the melancholy floating to the surface. “Jazzy...”

“Dean, I’m fine. I just...I’m just really impressed.” 

“Impressed by what?”

My fingers moved through his short hair like they moving through the energetic currents of a river. “You, silly. How you can carry the weight of the entire world on your shoulders for years, fill yourself up with sadness, and grief, and loss, and still laugh like a toddler stumbling across his first butterfly.”

His lashes brushed his freckled cheeks as he blinked dramatically before meeting my gaze once again. “And what the hell does that mean?”

“It means I love you, asshole. A whole shit ton.” I laughed, feeling the remnants of the past six years blow away like dust. 

“I love you too, Jazzy. More than you'll ever know.”


End file.
